


relevé

by belovedmuerto



Series: In Your Head [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: 2nd POV, Ballet, Gen, bucky barnes pov, dancer!natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6841423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You find yourself watching her dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	relevé

You find yourself watching her dance.

You are ever in his orbit; ever in his shadow, following behind him wherever he goes (well, up to the point where he leaves the building. You can’t manage that, not yet). He is the only light in your life, and you are like a moth to flame.

But you can’t watch him work out. It makes you feel afraid, and you’re not sure if you’re afraid for him or yourself. So you don’t watch. It is an easy choice to make, one of the easiest choices you make each day (pretty much the only easy choice you mean every day). You wander off, trying to get far enough away that you can’t hear his shield ricochet, or his fists land, but not so far that you feel afraid for other reasons.

It’s the music that draws you in, at first. A small room, off to one side, like it hadn’t been a part of the original plan of the gym. It’s covered in mirrors, with a barre along two walls, a couple of mats spread out. There’s a stereo in the corner; it’s where the music comes from. She is in the center of the room, in pink shoes and casual workout clothes, twirling and jumping.

She doesn’t acknowledge your presence, though you know enough of her to know that she’s aware of you. You’re glad, though, because you don’t know what you’d say, and in here you can only hear the music and her feet hitting the hardwood floor, and it makes a little bubble of something positive in your head. You tuck yourself into a corner and watch her dance. 

The next time you find her in her room there’s a banana and an unopened bottle of water in the corner, and you take them for the tacit permission to return that they are. You eat the banana slowly while you watch her; today she is leaping back and forth, sweating heavily, trying to get higher each time. It is glorious to watch, and you nearly forget about the water until she pauses to take several large gulps of her own.

She glances at you. Once. Out of the corners of her eyes, for a brief second. 

The bananas and water continue. You like bananas, but you don’t get them very often. Steve hates them; he rants about the way they used to be, and the internet tells you that there are only a few places in the world where that kind of banana still grows.

You don’t remember the way bananas used to taste, but you find you like the strange soft texture of these bananas, so you don’t mind that you can’t remember, because at least you get to enjoy new bananas, which Steve can’t. 

(He still like oranges, and apples. You both like pineapple, although something about it seems like luxury to you, and that makes you a bit uncomfortable.)

After a few weeks, there is a cushion in the corner as well as the banana and water, and it makes sitting with your knees drawn up and your head in your hands more comfortable. You fall asleep sometimes, watching her, but she always does something to rouse you before she leaves, or before he comes looking for you. You are grateful, though you do not know why.

You wonder why she dances, why she chooses to do this so often.

One day she stops in the middle of her dancing and crosses the room to you. She hunkers down in front of you and crosses her arms over her knees, tilts her head and watches you for a moment. 

“I can teach you some of this,” she says. “If you want. I could use a _pas de deux_ partner, if you would be comfortable throwing me in the air.”

You blink at her for a moment, and then shrug.

She nods, and you think that’s it, but she speaks again. “I do this to remind myself that I am not only meant for violence. I can do beautiful things with my body, too.”

She doesn’t wait for you to answer, she reaches out and pats your knee, then stands and goes back to the barre.

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess this is a series now. Who knew?


End file.
